I'm only 4 years old. Nobody cares about me. Everyone hates me. I could disappear, I could slip away in the night and wind up dead on the side of the road. I have no creativity, no passion, I don't know what I want. I'm only 4 in how I can use and move my body. I wanted to stop wanting things, to stop with this petulant temper whenever I can't get my own way. Reading envy, someone has read more books and I can only list names. I'm only 4, it's pathetic. I should be playing with superheroes. I don't want to go outside. I should be looking at action men. People laugh because they know how to create joy, they know the tone of the woman of nature. They know there are no facts, nothing is fixed. I am 4, but I'm only a few days old because I'm a spider. I'm a spider pretending to be human, spinning pretentious metaphysical cobwebs that lead nowhere. I'm fake, everything I've ever wanted or strove for was just a distraction cast by the illusion of will that strives for itself. I can't die.